


Shattered Mind

by SPNxBookworm



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Coda, Guilt, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 04:38:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8432140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPNxBookworm/pseuds/SPNxBookworm
Summary: Coda to iamremy's - 'pick up what's left of my soul'. 
"It’s too white. It’s too fucking white in here. Too red. Fuck. There was so much red."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iamremy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/gifts).
  * Inspired by [pick up what's left of my soul](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6010372) by [remy (iamremy)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/remy). 



> So, if you aren't aware already, most of my ethanwill fics are a reciprocation of some work or some idea that results in me reading or squealing with [Naila](http://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/works) about it.  
> She had sent a snippet of her recent update to her [fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6010372) a month or so ago and this particular coda happened. 
> 
> It does contain spoilers for her fic, so I'd suggest checking that out first. 
> 
> **Warning:** Suicidal thoughts, self hate, self worth issues
> 
> For any pain caused while reading this fic, please direct your swearing and accusations towards Naila ;) 
> 
> Honestly, I think she is one of the best EthanWill writers in our tiny little fandom and I adore all of her fics. I do urge you to go check it out. Also check out her other works, as they are just as splendid.

_ It’s too white. It’s too fucking white in here _ .

Ethan rubs and twists his hands together as he sits on an uncomfortable steel chair, his left leg tapping the floor nervously.

_ Too white. Too red. Fuck. There was so much red _ .

Ethan gets to his feet, unable to sit still, still wringing his hands; too stubborn to admit to himself that they won’t stop shaking.

“Ethan.”

Ethan turns around to see Jane and Benji walking towards him, and suddenly the hospital hallway feels too small. He needs to get out of here.

“Here’s in there,” he chokes out, tugging at the collar of his tee. He then swiftly turns around, bolting for the nearest bathroom.

“Fuck,” he hisses as he hunches over one of the basins. He turns on the faucet, splashing his face with cold water. Looking at himself in the mirror, he runs a wet hand through his hair. He looks like shit; eyes puffy and red-rimmed, dark bags under them due to numerous sleepless nights, hair disheveled.

Blood…

There’s blood on his tee. Will’s tee. Will’s favorite gray tee.  _ Fuck _ . Did he really not realize he’d worn it? He’d snatched the first thing out of the laundry. Will usually wore it when he joined Ethan for jogs, or when they were sparring. Sometimes during the rare lazy days they’d get where they would just lounge around on the couch all day.

_ Shit _ .

Things got bad enough that Ethan didn’t realize he was wearing Will’s clothing.

Which now had blood on it.

Just like the blood on Ethan’s hands.

“No,” Ethan says to himself as he dumps half the soap bottle onto his hands and turns on the faucet. “No,” he says louder, scrubbing vigorously.

“Ethan?”

“NO!” he yells as he uses all his force to punch the mirror in front of him. Heavy breathing turns to sobs as he looks towards the entrance to find Jane, staring at him in shock. “I can’t get the red off my hands. It’s too fucking red, and I can’t get it off.”

He slumps to the floor, unabashed of the tears running down his cheeks and the sobs racking through his body. He feels Jane sit next to him.

“I shot him,” he chokes. “Jane, I… I shot him.”

“I know. I know,” she says, reaching for his now injured hand. Ethan watches, broken, as she patiently picks out glass from and around his knuckles. She then situates herself so that they are now sitting side by side, shoulder and legs touching.

“You shot him,” Jane says.

Ethan nods, resting his head on Jane’s shoulder.

“How?” she asks.

“Flashback of Afghanistan. Didn’t know what was happening until I pulled the trigger,” Ethan confesses, voice breaking.

“It’s not your fault.”

Ethan doesn’t say anything, because  _ fuck _ , it’s definitely his fault.

“You need help, Ethan.”

He nods.

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, reviews are love. 
> 
> [Here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/works) is the link to her profile and her lovely lovely fics. Please check her stuff out, she is amazing :D


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